


A Sad Thing

by mydickisthealpha



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bath, Bathing/Washing, Domestic, Gift Fic, M/M, challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-17
Updated: 2012-09-17
Packaged: 2017-11-14 11:49:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydickisthealpha/pseuds/mydickisthealpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gift fic, prompt: Domestic, shower/hair washing? Any rating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sad Thing

“Bored,” a monotonous, drawling tone startled John from his relaxation. The ex-army doctor glared until he realized Sherlock wasn’t going to remain at the door, but waltz right on in to sit on the stool beside the porcelain bath frame.

“Sherlock!” John spluttered about, drawing bubbles closer to himself to hide any parts of his body he didn’t want Sherlock to see. The genius sleuth yawned in response, pulling his white sheet closer to him as he situated on the stool.

“It’s not anything I haven’t seen before,” Sherlock intoned, eyes roaming about the flimsy bubbles.

“It’s the principle of it,” John pursed his thin lips, which Sherlock knew meant he was annoyed, “besides, what are you doing in here anyway? Don’t you have that case with the--”

“Solved, don’t be daft, John, that was far too easy to spend much time on. Now, I’m bored.”

“You can bored somewhere else, you know?” The man tilted his head a bit as he asked, but Sherlock was too busy focusing on small details around the bathroom to notice. John sighed, but let silence take over as Sherlock’s eyes began shining, taking in new information. He was studying John’s bath items,which consisted of a towel, shampoo that hadn’t been opened yet, an opened, half-used packet of white tea leaves bubble bath, and fresh clothes. He could see Sherlock’s eyebrows lifting, brain sifting through information.

“You’re not going out tonight?” Sherlock asked, but John knew he already deduced the answer.

He answered anyway. “No, I’m staying in. It’s too cold for going out. Supposed to snow tonight, I heard from the telly.”

“Good. We can have that spicy takeout stuff you like so much,” Sherlock replied, nonchalant and far away as he crossed his legs under the white of his bed blanket. John let out a short chuckle, eyebrows creasing in a sort of humored disbelief and the corners of his lips lifting.

“You sure it’s not ‘cause you like it too?” John asked, still grinning.

“Would you like me to wash your hair?” Sherlock countered, ignoring the question altogether, unsurprisingly.

“Since when do you offer to do things?” The playfulness in John’s voice was evident, but Sherlock rolled his eyes anyway.

“Since I’m bored, now move forwards,” he responded, dropping his bed sheet to reveal his completely naked body. If John didn’t know any better, he would think Sherlock had planned this from the start. Still, he shifted forwards to make room for those long limbs, leaning back when Sherlock was settled behind him comfortably.

John couldn’t really remember the moment their relationship had shifted, maybe that suggested that it had always been there to begin with. At some point, denying anything didn’t matter so much anymore. Maybe it was being without Sherlock, or perhaps it had been Sherlock himself. Anyway, the naturalness of their current relationship wasn’t as terrifying as John had thought it could be.

It was still terrifying because it was Sherlock. Sherlock, who could fake a suicide, who could hunt down Moriarty’s men in three years, Sherlock who could love him, but never have to say it for John to just know. It was Sherlock, genius Sherlock who could become tired of him and then where would he be?

“You are thinking too hard again, John,” Sherlock broke his reveries as he twisted to grab the unopened shampoo bottle. He made quick work of unwrapping the plastic and putting a bit in the middle of his hand. “Lean back.”

John did as he was told, shutting his eyes as Sherlock massaged his fingers into his scalp, working the shampoo into a lather. John leaned into the warm, firm body behind him, but would never say he was simply glad it was real.

“John,” Sherlock said softly after a while, pulling his hands away.

“Hmm?” John opened one eye, almost pouting at the lack of those deft fingers working out any headache he developed during the day.

“I saw you when I looked into the mirror.” Sherlock sounded contemplative, even a bit confused. He was still for a moment before he titled John’s head back and began pouring water from his cupped hands to rinse the shampoo.

“How do you mean?” John furrowed his brows, despite both eyes being closed again.

“When I looked into the mirror, I saw you in myself. It was not you, of course, that would be completely illogical, but I saw you in me. You were there, in small details. No matter how I changed my facial expression, I couldn’t erase you.”

John was silent, taking Sherlock’s words in. Honestly, he felt a bit like crying, though he wouldn’t. Why was it a sad thing? Why did it make him sad, but infinitely happy?

“Your hair is more gray than blonde now,” Sherlock commented off-handedly and John lifted up, turned, and splashed Sherlock with water.

“Don’t say stuff like that!” John hissed indignantly, pursing his lips again.

“Aging is a natural process--”

“Natural process my arse, keep your mouth shut.” John turned back around to let Sherlock finish. He stopped scowling to think about Sherlock’s earlier comment, but decided to let it go until later. He wanted to relish the feel of Sherlock’s hands washing his hair.

They simply enjoyed each other’s presence for a while, the silence was comfortable enough. After a little, John insisted on switching. Sherlock wasn’t very heavy upon him, but it still felt nice to work through the dark, pliable curls on the detective’s head.

“Sometimes, when I look into the mirror, I also see you,” John said, lathering and scraping his fingernails softly across Sherlock’s scalp.

Sherlock didn’t answer. John didn’t expect him to.

After John was finished rinsing, they rested together, talking idly, laughing about some case or another, until Mrs. Hudson opened the bathroom door an hour later to find them fast asleep, hands intertwined.

 


End file.
